Faith
by EOlivet
Summary: This is a DA/X-Files crossover, but the majority is DA, so I've posted it both here and in the Crossovers section.


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize described herein are the property of either James Cameron, Charles Eglee, Cameron/Eglee Productions or Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Twentieth Century Fox.   
Description: It's not overtly shippy, but some (DA) tensions are there. This is my first DA fic, so be kind...please? It's a completed piece, but until I figure out how many lines this will allow me to post, I'll post the first part, then the rest. Okay, here goes...live from Seattle... :)   
***   
Faith   
***   
I swear, Seattle gets so dark sometimes that it scares me. Not a typical scared-of-the-dark kind of scare, but a big black cloud of destruction scare. I keep thinking it can't be this dark for this long and that the sky is going to open up in this bright burst of light, bringing another pulse that will finish us all off.   
The only burst of light I see right now is the gleam from the dim overhead lights reflecting off of that green 4 ball I'm shooting toward the right corner pocket. The stick cracks onto the table and the ball shoots across the felt, end over end, the 4 vanishing and reappearing until it rolls to an absolute complete stop inches away from the desired pocket.   
A smile spreads over Original Cindy's face, like a beam of light cutting through the darkness. "Girl, I can taste that free beer," she declares, aligning her straight black leather skirt to be perfectly perpendicular to the cue. Bang! A gunshot across the table and the purple 6 ball rolls purposefully and without pause into the left corner pocket. She walks in front of me, leaning coyly against her magic cue. "Stand back and watch the master at work," she orders, now squaring her body against the table, drawing back the cue and pushing me back into the smoky atmosphere of the bar. The cue winds back and bang! That green ball that had grinded to a halt for me slips into the pocket with ease at Original Cindy's touch. "You behind the 8 ball now 'cause well...you behind the 8 ball now." She slides over to the other side and readies her shot, squaring her body flush against the table and sticking that supposedly cute butt of hers just far enough out to be seen by that cute blonde she's been eyeing all night.   
I'm clearly through and no sense staying just to watch the torture. "Be right back with your beer," I inform her and she flashes that victory smile -- either to me or that cute blonde who's eyeing her back.   
The blonde has just been joined by some beauty of a man, so I'm not sticking around for this melodrama. "Can I get two beers?" I shout to the scruffy character behind the counter.   
Bartender clearly has the night off and this is his dopey looking cousin or someone. Now he's eyeing me like Original Cindy is eyeing the blonde. "Two's my favorite number." He grins at me through yellow teeth. Eww.   
"Sorry, hon, I don't swing that way." I turn to give Original Cindy a loving gaze, but all I get is the evil eye and a half-hearted swish of the hand. Her loving gaze turns back to cute blonde and her beauty. Looks like he's giving Original Cindy a loving gaze as well.   
Cousin yellow-tooth is clearly not okay with my lack of good taste. "And I don't serve little girls on a school night," he retorts.   
A challenge, huh? Clearly, he has no idea. "All right, I'm gonna say this real clear so you get me the first time. I'm a Jam Pony girl." I stick my badge in his face. "A member of the working class. I deliver packages to some of the lowest filth in this town, I bust my a$$ to get them their dirty magazines and counterfeit merchandise and I get paid dirt for it. Needless to say, the work satisfaction of me and pretty much the whole payroll is about nil. And you know where all us dissatisfied Jam Pony employees go when we need to forget about our rotten days?" SLAM! My hand clenching precious cash down on the counter. "Now, I hear that bar up the street just got a brand new stock of imported beer, and I'd be happy to take my business and that of my Jam Pony pals right out that door without looking back. Got it?"   
Yellow-tooth angrily grabs two bottles without popping the caps and hurls them down the counter. What seemed an inconvenience is actually a blessing for Original Cindy because I can toss her the beer without invading her threesome.   
But, now thanks to Original Cindy's romantic prowess, I have nobody to hang with. Yellow-tooth is just finishing up with some pretty young Daquiri, but Original Cindy's cute blonde looks like she needs a refill and is trying to catch yellow-tooth's attention. He has to come back my way to serve her, so I have to make my escape now.   
I sit down in the only row of seats not directly facing the bar, crack open my beer and quench my thirst for inebriation. Tastes like crap. This beer's not even cold. "You gotta do the bartender to get a cold brew here?" I ask loudly, but rhetorically.   
I look around for confirmation, but nobody's sitting near me except this guy a few seats down. He's got one of those bad-tasting beers and he's looking at it like it killed his father. Just holding it in his hand and turning it around. He has the face of a survivor -- tough, tenacious, except for his eyes. Such longing, such desperation, the eyes of someone who might attempt suicide. The hopelessness and despair are unmistakable.   
Figuring it'll be my good deed for the night, I slide over till there's only one seat separating us. "You're very lucky you know -- this is the best warm beer in the city."   
He glances at me before fixating back on the fascinating bottle in his hand.   
I'm going to need more of a buzz to crack such a tough nut. Another swig of the foul-tasting beer and I turn my seat around to face him. "You know, they only put problem-solving ability in the chilled beer," I inform him.   
He whirls around at me. "Lady, much as I'd like to go upstairs with you and discuss the virtues of cold beer, I just gave my last cash to the bartender, so why don't you look for business someplace else?"   
Oh boy. The warm beer flows down my throat as the anger starts to boil up in my head. "Look, buddy, I prefer to cheer up complete strangers through pleasant conversation, not sex for cash if it's all the same to you." Another sip of beer makes me rethink that last comment. I turn again toward this lost soul. "Let me guess: a sharp-tongued female drove you to this warm beer-filled paradise."   
The man remains sullen, and silently removes his wallet. At least I know he's not propositioning me. He sets the wallet on the counter and opens it, still mute.   
I peer over to see an equally solemn-looking woman staring back from behind a faded plastic cover. "Looks like she's your type," I remark, noting both their expressions.   
"She's my wife." He breaks his silence, addressing the picture.   
"She's beautiful." I get a vague sense of something as I'm watching how he's looking at that picture. A flimsy piece of paper with a bunch of dots that when lined up in a certain way, reveal an image. When they're really just colored dots. They're not a person.   
He closes his eyes. "She's gone."   
I'm starting to realize where this man is coming from. One more sip of beer makes it easier to take.   
"They took her," he blurts out, now squeezing the beer bottle. "They took her...and my daughter."   
"Where?" Sounds harsher than I wanted it to.   
He closes his wallet and shoves it away. "If I knew, then I wouldn't be here!"   
I can feel the rage start to rise up as I look at this man. I keep focused on him as I consider what has been done to his life. He could be my father. I can see the face of his wife and daughter as they are taken away. I can hear their screams as if it's happening to me all over again.   
I make my way around the bar to where yellow-tooth is tossing glasses in the air, delighting a Pina Colada and a Margarita. "I need to use your phone."   
He gets this smug look and I just want to grab him by the hair and throw him through the wall into the dumpster that's outside the bar. He reaches under the counter and pulls out the phone like he's actually gonna let me use it. "It's a payphone," he informs me, his hand covering the receiver.   
It's not that big an obstacle, really, but breaking his hand in front of all these people would really spoil all the fun Original Cindy is having with the blonde and the beauty man. And I'm not about to do that to one of my girls.   
Guess I'm going in. Before yellow-tooth can move the phone away, I'm over the counter and breathing in his breath." I said I need to use your phone." I'm not into making a scene, but we're clearly drawing enough attention that even my sullen drinking buddy has turned his eyes on us.   
Yellow-tooth thinks he's gonna get all in my face, so that's his first strategic mistake. He thinks by shoving the phone behind him, he can protect his territory and beat his chest at me.   
Crack. Bang. I've grabbed yellow-tooth's arms, spun him around and taken the phone. Heart pounding in my ears. "Thanks, man."   
The man has now turned back to not drinking his warm beer, so once I'm safely out of enemy territory, I pick up the receiver, knowing I'm only a few numbers away from the best ally this man could have.   
"Yeah."   
I want to smile, but it doesn't seem right. "It's me. I've got somebody who could use your help. Can we come see you?"   
"Are you okay?"   
"Yeah, I'm fine. Can't really talk here. So, you up for a visit?"   
A soft chuckle. "From you...anytime."   
The man is now looking at me. I wish I could let him know how close he could be to a miracle. "Great, we'll be right over."   
"Wait...Max?"   
"Yeah?" My hand is on the switchook, so I'm glad I hesitated.   
Now I can hear movement on the other end, wheels across hardwood. "What's your friend's name?"   
"He's cool, Logan. Don't worry."   
"I just want to run a background check."   
How very Logan. How overprotective and compulsively safe. I walk over to the man, phone in hand. "My friend needs to know your name."   
The man hesitates, looking around as if his name will somehow put him in danger. A shrug of his shoulders and he responds, "Uh, Mulder--Fox, Fox Mulder."   
"Got it." Computer keys click away and I can practically hear information appearing on the screen. This time, I do smile.   
"Later." Replacing the receiver, I turn to this until recently unnamed man. "Fox Mulder, right? I'm Max." I grab my beer and take one final swig. "The person I just talked to is probably the best shot you have at finding your wife and daughter. I don't want to bore you with the details, but he and I both know what it's like to lose, and let's just say we like to even the score."   
He starts to get up, but then sits back down. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he asks me.   
"You don't. But, sometimes trust shows up when you least expect it." I breeze by Original Cindy's empty table and out. Grab my helmet and goggles -- smog'll make my ride that much more entertaining. Something about motorcycles and darkness just clicks. "He'll help you," I assure Fox Mulder, who did indeed follow me outside.   
This man is awfully quiet as we make our way down the hall to Logan's place. Not a word on the bike, not one complaint about riding shotgun with some daredevil who likes to pretend her bike's a hovercraft. I knock softly -- for appearance's sake -- and wait for Bling to greet us.   
Bling's face is blank, but his eyes are always kind. He opens the door like some old-fashioned gentleman and I motion to Fox Mulder to follow me through the mini-labyrinth that is Logan's ample pad.   
"Max." And there's Logan -- there to greet me with a look that makes me feel like I've been through a war to get here.   
I shrug off my jacket and toss it on the couch. "Hey -- this is Fox Mulder." Turn now to my guest. "This is Logan Cale."   
"Fox Mulder. FBI ,right?"   
Now I have to act as a shield between Fox Mulder and the door, and catch Logan up as I do it. "You don't understand...Logan can break into most any computer system out there -- that's how he finds people. He ran a background check on you for my sake, I guess."   
Fox Mulder moves his gaze from me to Logan and back to me. "Okay...uh, Mr.--no, Agent Mulder, what are the full names of your wife and daughter?" Logan heads back toward his computer.   
"Dana Scully is my wife, Dana Katherine Scully, and my daughter is Emily, Emily Margaret Mulder."   
Logan clicks away at the keys, composing his own data symphony. His efforts have certainly been known to receive ovations. "How old is your daughter? When's her birthday?"   
"She's nine. Born November 21."   
"And what does your wife do for a living?"   
"She's also an FBI agent...we work together."   
Logan composes another measure or two of text, stares at the screen, then wheels around to face us again. "Agent Mulder, I'm going to make a call to one of my sources, so I'm going to need you to leave the room. Bling." Somehow the guy always appears unnoticed. "Get Agent Mulder anything he needs. Max -- I need to borrow you for a second."   
Agent Mulder is beginning to show signs of distrust. And Logan is behaving like a city bureaucrat. Bling shows our guest out and shuts the door behind him. "What's the deal, Logan? I brought him here for help and you're blowing him off!"   
"Max," he almost whispers. "I went through the federal government's individual records and found Fox Mulder and Dana Scully."   
"Yeah, so?" I feel like hurling him through the wall. This Fox Mulder could be my father. He's lost his wife and daughter, how can Logan be so cavalier? "This isn't one of your social justice missions -- this is somebody's life, somebody's family!"   
He grabs my hands, similar to what I did with yellow-tooth. His look is firm, but not angry. "Fox Mulder and Dana Scully" he begins again, "do exist. They're both FBI agents. However, Dana Scully is not married to Fox Mulder, nor is there a record of an Emily Margaret Mulder born November 21, 2010, or any other year for that matter. And look..." He's not yet let go of my hands and is steering me toward the computer screen. "Fox William Mulder, born October 13, 1961, died May 17, 2000. That was twenty years ago."   
"But that's..." I keep my eyes on the computer screen, at that photo I.D. staring me in the face. "That looks just like him."   
Logan nods, now dropping my hands. "Here's something else." He moves back to his keyboard. "Everyone was assigned an I.D. number by the government. Mulder's number shows up on government records from May 2000 through March 2001 -- about once a week. It was some kind of experimental program. There's not a whole lot of information about it."   
I stare at the computer screen, as if it will explain itself to me when Logan can't. "What does that mean?"   
He turns to me. "I think this was the beginning. The origins of Manticore. The government found the perfect guinea pigs for their genetic experiments -- their own employees. And once they'd perfected the technology, they used it to create--"   
"Me." I can finish that sentence. Leaning back on the desk, I reflect on what he just said. "And once they were done with the subjects...?"   
"Wiped their memory clean. Or gave them a new one. Records say Dana Scully was Agent Mulder's partner when he worked at the FBI. She actually gave birth to a daughter, Emily, in May 2001, but the girl's name is Emily Melissa Scully. Dana Scully left the FBI the next year and currently lives in Annapolis. According to this, Emily is nineteen, not nine."   
"We need to tell him," I plead with Logan. "So, maybe Dana Scully isn't his wife and he doesn't have a daughter, but it still means something."   
He wheels out from behind his computer and faces the window. "He wouldn't believe us, Max. These are his memories. Whoever did this to him instilled him with the notion that everyone he loved disappeared."   
I stand beside him, if only physically. "Tougher when it actually happens," I remind him. That wasn't fair. "We should at least try."   
"Suppose it does happen." Logan turns to me. "He goes across the country and finds them. He's not going to believe Dana Scully isn't his wife and Emily Scully isn't his daughter. They'll be afraid of him and he'll lose them for good. Do you want him to believe that he somehow drove his wife and daughter away?"   
"So what? It's better to have loved and lost, right?" I glance out the window and the night stares back at me. It's dark enough to lose your own family. "Logan, if this Dana Scully was this man's partner, they were probably real tight. Don't you think it's possible that if they met again, even without knowing each other, they might find some way back together?" I need a different angle. "Somebody gives you a shot of amnesia and plunks you down on your ex-wife's doorstep, you think you still wind up together?" I hear the question and it stings even my ears. "Hey, I--"   
"Can't choose who you fall in love with, Max," he says to the ground. He looks up with new conviction. Before I can respond, he's opened the door and the chair has sprung Agent Mulder practically onto my toes.   
"The only reason I came here was to get information on my wife and daughter and if you're just going to waste my time--"   
He better not get fresh with me. Bling's got me covered, though -- I can see him in the corner. Nice to know help would be there if I needed it. Sweet even. I step back to give myself some breathing room. "Agent Mulder..."   
"We've located your wife and daughter," Logan finishes. He doesn't glance in my direction, just stays completely focused on this lost soul. "Dana and Emily are in Annapolis. Here's the address." He pulls out a piece of freshly printed paper with Agent Mulder's life there in black and white.   
Agent Mulder stares at the piece of paper, as if trying to turn the black dots that make up the address into the dots that form his wife's picture in his wallet. "Annapolis..." repeats Agent Mulder. "What are they doing in Annapolis? Who brought them there? Who?" His voice rising in intensity with every question and he's staring at Logan and me like we had something to do with the taking of Dana and Emily Mulder.   
Leave it to Logan to remain calm in a time of crisis. "I was only able to find their location. Unfortunately, I can't tell you anything about how they got there. The only thing I can tell you is they are in Annapolis at that address. Of that I am certain."   
Agent Mulder is back to looking at the paper again, then at the two of us. For the first time, I can see the helplessness fade back into his eyes, replaced by something shining like hope. Faith. What a concept. It's so exciting, you can't even explain it, which might be why he walks out without a word. Doesn't have to say anything, though. The proof's in the eyes.   
"He's going to go back there and they won't know him. His own family won't know him." Second-guessing myself to Logan.   
He turns, looking at some point beyond me. "Some people are meant to be together, regardless of circumstance."   
I have to think about that. "Thanks. I owe you one."   
After I leave Logan's place, I head up to my real home on the Space Needle. Agent Mulder must be on a train by now. Maybe he's dreaming of his wife and daughter. I bet when he sees them again, they won't recognize him, but I'd like to think that something in their minds will remember him from somewhere, and for some reason, they'll want to get to know him better.   
Except that Dana and Emily Scully aren't his family. Dana Scully is his old FBI partner and Emily Scully is her daughter. Agent Mulder is filled with memories of a family he doesn't have. There's no real connection between him and Dana Scully. How could they possibly let him into their lives?   
Then I remember Hannah, who rescued me from the road, and Zack, who saved me from Manticore, and Logan, who devotes more time to helping me than he does to those who really deserve it. My life's been filled with people who have no ties to me, yet they mean more to me than my own family. Building a family out of complete strangers. Maybe that's what faith really is.   
The End.   
  
  



End file.
